All We Ever Knew
by BiOCaAM
Summary: .:formerly Torture Me:. Eventually, you start to forget yourself in the midst of violence. T for you guessed it, violence and...suggestions. Characters inside. COMPLETE
1. She'll Scream

A/N: this fic wasn't supposed to turn out so dark, or so…vulgar. But the idea came and I couldn't ignore it.

**Torture Me**

"_Hate me,_

_Do it, do it again"_

**I. Stockholm**

She was his voodoo doll.

He had stuck pins in every which way; her arms, legs, eyes, back, head. Nothing she had ever heard could even come close to what she was experiencing.

She hated how she liked it.

* * *

The first time, she begged for him to stop. She screamed and shouted. They fell on deaf ears. He pinned her wrists behind her back and bit her neck, watched her bleed. Her legs flailed about, trying to kick him away.

"Stupid bitch," he said through gritted teeth, landing a foot casually on her kneecap, shattering it. She screeched in pain, cursing him off.

He just stared at her with those icy, ruthless cobalt eyes of his, like she was a piece of garbage. "That's what you get."

* * *

The second time was when it got out of hand.

He slashed her arms with a knife, smearing blood all over her legs, clothes, face. She didn't protest, just whimpered weakly as he smirked against her lips.

What scared her the most, however, was how she didn't mind.

* * *

She couldn't explain why her heart raced with excitement and fear when he was with her. Moreover she didn't understand why he was doing this. Was he desperate?

If she even briefly gave herself the satisfaction of kissing him back, he'd go insane. Well, more insane than he already was. He didn't want to think that he no longer had power over her.

* * *

"_No, no, please, anything but that…"_

That was the first time he took things farther than she would ever want to go. It had been inevitable, but that didn't mean she didn't plead for him to stop, even when it was too late and she was being held against his hip.

His eyes didn't say anything. They were completely emotionless, but even so, they looked into hers and she melted at the core.

Something was wrong.

* * *

**II. Lima**

He was sick.

There was no other way to break her. She had already stopped her beseeching. She even moaned every now and then.

He did not wince when she dug her fingernails into his back, she didn't cry when he hurt her.

His ego had been bruised.

* * *

He was a misogynist.

He viewed women as only good for sex.

She was there only to punctuate his beliefs.

* * *

He got a rush out of her. He didn't know what she was going to do; look away or look at him.

She tried to back away once. Where she had gotten that courage, he had no idea. He kicked her and roared, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He grimaced when she started sobbing. Getting sick of it, he lifted her up by the collar of her shirt and broke the space between them just to shut her up.

**III. Addiction**

She was addicted to him.

She relied on him to make things interesting, to keep her company. If there was something more perverse than that, she didn't want to know what it was.

* * *

He was addicted to her.

He wanted her day and night. She was the stuff of his thoughts, the one thing that got him electrified. He relied on her to boost his self-image, to reinforce the fact that he was better than her, but most importantly he needed her to remind him that he was not normal by any standards.

* * *

**A/N:**

Wow. Even I didn't think that I was capable of writing something so dark. If you think the rating should be upped, please let me know, because I've got my suspicions. I didn't want to rate it higher because…I'm sort of only a teenager myself. But reviews make me happy as always.


	2. She'll Shout

A/N: Something made me feel bad about leaving this as a oneshot, so I guess I'll make it a threeshot! :D

**I. Come Back**

* * *

I'm lying on the miserable bed that is my only comfort. I dig my face into the pillow and try to forget the pain that I am in. I'm ashamed of my feelings, or lack thereof. I hate how I have no control over what is going on.

It's not the only thing I hate.

* * *

I stopped fighting a long time ago. I'm just too weak to face the consequences.

I haven't been so afraid of the dark since I was eight, and back then I had my parents to help me. Here, there is no one to turn to, no one to tell me the lies that I so desperately need to hear. At this point, I'm not sure if I even _want_ to hear those lies.

Because I already know that everything won't be alright.

* * *

What happened that made me so reliant on him?

He has nothing that I want or need, he's done nothing for me. Everything he has done to me has been in his own interest.

I can't explain why. I'm not even sure what I should call the feeling I get when I'm with him. Something between fear and excitement, love and hatred.

* * *

**II. As It Is**

I wonder if it's possible for murderers to feel guilty. Are murderers people who do it for the rush, and feel bad about it later? Or do they not feel bad at all?

Tracing invisible patterns that mean nothing, I close my eyes, hoping that it will be the thing to take me home.

* * *

Lately he's been giving me these strange looks. Like most of my own feelings, I can't put a label on it. It's got small traces of remorse in there, but it's like he's remembering something that he'd rather forget.

I want to laugh in his face and scream at him, but I wanted to comfort him, also.

* * *

If you are a victim, you put the blame on yourself. Because in a way, it _is _your fault, even if people say that you've done nothing to provoke it.

What would he do if I told him this?

* * *

**III. Someday**

I honestly don't remember what the sun looks like. All I've known for the past week is this damp, cold, miserable place that's haunted by the ghosts I cannot see.

Just seven days here, and I am already on the verge of ending my own life.

* * *

Every time in my mind, right before I fall asleep, I pray that he will realize what he's done, and everything it entails. The concentrated pain that's manifested itself in the form of tear stains. The unnamed feelings he's stirred in me, and why I'm experiencing them.

Like so many other times, I want to hit him and hold his hand. I want to kill him, and I want to save him.

* * *

_Reviews make me happy, as usual._


	3. She'll Pray

**A/N: **Ano, it's the last chapter of this threeshot. I had a hell of a lot of fun writing this particular chapter, mostly because it's from the 'monster's' point of view. Thank you for the lovely reviewers, and I hope you liked this story.

"_Bathe in kerosene,_

_The words tattooed in his veins."_

**I. Spells**

The watched pot never boils, I guess. When you're staring at the clock for hours, it feels more like you've been there for days instead of a couple hours. Yet I'm constantly surprised by what little happens here.

What goes on in our minds shouldn't count, right?

* * *

I am genuinely shocked that she hasn't at least attempted to kill herself yet. Let's forget the fact that I'm the whole reason her life went down fucking drain. Hypothetically, in a different lifetime, we could have been friends. In a different lifetime, maybe, but definitely not now.

This is the thing that I hate the most. The guilt. It comes at random moments. It comes when I watch her sleep, especially. That's the only time she ever smiles. I wonder what she's dreaming about. Her brother, father, mother, friends.

Never did I think that it would be me.

* * *

I'm not modest. Don't get that image stuck in your head, kids. I only use logic, and this defied logic. Maybe that's why they call Stockholm Syndrome a psychological phenomenon. It's something I can't grasp, because I only think about myself. I don't pay attention to 'people,' per se. I'm more socially inclined than that fucking Near, but I actually know less about general people than him.

My big question, though is this: Is Yagami Sayu really part of the general people in my world?

* * *

**II. Sorry**

I don't do apologies. A snowball would sooner have a chance of surviving in hell. I killed a person? No apology. I destroyed someone's life? Still no apology.

Fell in love?

_That _warrants a 'sorry.'

* * *

It's awkward. I hate it. She's bordering on a daze and full blown sleep. Like many other times, I wonder what's going through her mind. I haven't seen her in person for almost four days now. Her father's coming to get her in a week, anyways. That isn't enough time, if you put it in perspective, to rebuild someone's life and make amends.

I would know.

* * *

I'm jealous.

Matt talks to her sometimes. I see the way she lights up. I'm not a retard, thank you very much. Nor am I oblivious to the palpable magnetism Matt seems to have on women.

(seriously, what do women see in a complete nerd anyway?)

I keep trying to tell myself the same thing over and over again. _You're not jealous. You do not envy your best friend. It's your fault she hates you, anyway._

* * *

**III. Hasta La Vista, Mi Amante**

It's only five days.

I don't want it just to be a chapter in my pathetic life. I don't want it to be forever, either.

Just give me another chance…

* * *

If I learned all the languages there was to learn, there would still not be enough to say about Sayu. She is something that I can't explain. She's got this radiance of…something. It gives you a headache, but the good kind of headache.

Light-headed, maybe.

God, I'm hopeless.

* * *

The last time I ever saw her, she was smiling.

I guess that she'll be better off without me.

* * *

_I appreciate everyone's reviews. Thank you for pressuring me to make this a threeshot._


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